Peter's Fears
by LaurenofGreyjoy
Summary: Peter prepares to go into his fear landscape. He may look tough, but what fears does this Candor hide?
1. Chapter 1

**This is my second story ever. So I'm still getting the hang of things. Again, a Peter fanfic. I'll probably continue this one.**

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"Peter?"

The door to the simulation room opened and a woman with a pixie cut and dark eyeliner peeked her head around the door. Lauren. She glanced down at a single paper, then back up to Peter.

Peter slid his knees to his chest and stood up. All the initiates had been waiting for their name to be called. One by one, they went into he simulation room, until the crowd dwindled down to a few. "Later," he looked at Drew, who sat next to him. Drew's brows were furrowed with a nervous look. Peter glanced down and gave him a chastising look of pity.

Lauren escorted him through the double doors. He'd only been in this room once, the time Four showed them around the Dauntless compound on the first day. The walls inside were spray-painted and looked like the subway station walls where the factionless lived. Those poor homeless people that weren't good enough for society. 'Well,' he thought, 'like Dad used to say- "You get what you deserve".' Those idiots that didn't think the government system was good enough for them. Or worse, they weren't good enough for it. Like the lowest scoring initiate here. Thinking of the factionless gave him a burst of energy. No way he was going to screw this test up. Stay on top. No way he was going to let anyone pass him. The top position in the initiate class got a job offer that was hard to pass up, he heard. He had seen the way Eric acted around Four- he wasn't an idiot. You could cut the tension with a knife. Eric obviously had a bone to pick with the guy, and he used his authority to do it. Peter liked the sweet sound of a position like that. Top dog of a community of fighters. The thought of a potential leadership position put a bounce in his step as he followed Lauren down the corridor.

Eventually, he and Lauren came to another door at the end of the short hallway. Inside, there were other people seated around a small conference table, which looked out of place in the dirty cement room. Two monitors were arranged side by side on the tabletop. A white pristine box of syringes and a dozen or so vials lay nearby.

Peter was bouncing on the balls of his feet by the time Eric came over from the table with the syringe.

"You know how this works, Peter." Eric took Peter's elbow and led him to a black metal door a few feet away. It was so well hidden, Peter hadnt noticed it on his first day here. Eric took a key from around his neck and unlocked it. Inside, the room was black. No lights, windows, or any other distinctive features. Peter's heart began to pound when he thought of what was about to happen. 'Its just like the trials with Four' he thought. But it wasn't. This was for all the marbles. Peter looked around the room again, and this time he could make out a large panel on the wall with the door. No doubt all the Dauntless leaders and instructors would be standing behind it watching him, with the other screen monitoring his hallucinated surroundings on another. He was not going to make a fool of himself this time.

Eric released his arm. "Tilt your head to the right," Eric instructed. Peter did so, and could feel the cold kiss of the needle on his lower neck. He clapped his clammy hands against each other and began to pace.

"Good luck," he heard Eric laugh just before he closed the door. The blackness of the room rushed toward him. His head felt light, exactly like it had when he had done this with Four. Peter's mind was spinning in all directions. It made him feel light- this was the first time he had ever been under simulation while he was standing. The world blurred in and out; colors danced in the darkness of the room. He rocked on his heels and tried to regain a point of balance. Who was he kidding? This was so much worse than the practice runs. Peter's mind felt light again. Suddenly, all the quiet and turbulence ceased.

An orange glow faded into Peter's vision beneath his feet. He waited for the light to fill his vision, but it remained a speck under his shoes. Peter crouched and reached his hand toward it, only to scrape his fingers on grated metal. He stayed that way for a few moments, until it started to move. The dot of orange grew in size, like it was rushing up to him. Peter instinctively backed away, but backed into an unseen wall. Black, apparently, since it blended in with the dark surroundings. He slide to a sit against the wall, a little disoriented. Through blurriness and fuzz Peter could still see a growing speck beneath the grate. A moment later, he smelled the smoke.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the second chapter! gf anyone ha any ideas for fears they'd like to see, just let me know. Thanks for reading!**

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The all-too familiar scent of fire overwhelmed his senses to an unfathomable point. It took him back to a summer night three years ago when he was still a kid, and his brother was still sane.

Peter shut his eyes, afraid to open them and see what was creeping up from under him. He held his palms to his ears, afraid to hear the crackling that was sure to follow. He must have looked like a child, cowering in the corner of a dark room. Or whatever this place was. This fear was most definitely childlike. It spawned from a late night in his garage spent with his older brother, Andrew, when their parents were out. Andrew had been acting quiet since he was finished with his job-shadowing assignment for school, so his dad suggested "bonding time". Andrew, 16, decided Peter needed to understand what he had learned during his job-shadowing.

"A fire," Andrew said, twirling a box of matches in one hand, "exposes who we really are. What is hidden underneath during a burn can be seen for a quick moment, and how we cover it up afterwards takes time, and begins to look differently than it did before. It's like us, Peter." he flicked the flap open and pulled out a match, pinching it between two fingers. "What you are underneath is different from the surface."

They were alone in heir garage fixing their bikes, when Andrew grew quiet and began rummaging through their father's drawers. Peter was frozen with fear at just the thought of his brother holding a match- fires, even this small, weren't allowed without controlled supervision, and especially not by a 16 year old boy who has been acting suspicious. Drew had too him about a neighbor who was a pyrotechnic. The dangerous kind.

"You see," he continued, "this is this community's flaw. Using serum to find the truth is lying in itself." He whipped the tip of the match across the box and a flame came to life. Andrew eyed it hungrily. "You can never truly find the truth about someone. There's always more layers of lies and personalities and emotions that a stranger can't get to. Only you can. And after a while," Andrew looked up from his enthralled state to see Peter looking frightened on the other side of the garage. Unsatisfied with his position, the older boy began to stalk over, still holding the burning match in front of this face.

"You're facades blur together. And you don't even know who you are anymore..." Andrew looked in the distance, out the window, into the deep blue of night. "So you see, there's no real truth in anything, Peter. This faction you call home is built on a lie, ironically. But no one can see that. But I have. And I hope you'll understand, Peter..." Andrew's voice trailed off to a whisper. Peter still sat with his back against the wall, watching as his mad brother approached.

He stopped directly in view of Peter, and lowered to a crouch. The match stood between them. Both watched it for some time before Peter felt a feeling grow in the pit of his stomach. Something like pity for his brother. Like sorrow or pain or hatred.

"Are you okay, Andrew?" Peter worked the courage to ask with a dry mouth. He tried to look into his eyes, but could only see a far-off gaze in Andrew's pupils.

"Never felt better," Andrew breathed, then blew out the match. The garage was pitch black and silent, save for Andrew's sighs and Peter's heavy breaths, a few inches away from each other.

Both their breaths settled into a matched rhythm. In and out, in and out, in and out, until Andrew reached for the match book again.

"Peter," he started. Peter shut his eyes tight, although the room was already pitch black. The weight of his brother's mad voice seemed to bounce in his mind. There was the normal Andrew who would poke fun at him on occasion. This was something he had never seen before.

"I've seen things that i can't describe. Things that rock this world to the very core. And I can't unknow them, you see..." his voice began to trail off. Peter heard a scratching sound, and saw a flame dance into vision. It illuminated Andrew's face- exposing in prominent chin and deep brown eyes, so they appeared to be black holes. His fingers moved the matchstick to the pile of plywood next to Peter.

The younger boy's palms gripped the ground with ferocity. He settled his panic enough to grab hold of his sibling's wrist. "Andrew, please," he pleaded, his voice shaky and cracking, "what? What are you doing? Please just... Stop. Whats wrong?" Peter was pleading now, practically sobbing. "Andrew, just. Don't! Stop!" both hands were now gripped tightly onto Andrew's wrist. They were trying to stop the advancing movements of the blazing match toward the pile of scrap wood next to them.

'Shit shit, oh god, oh gosh-' Peter thought. 'Stop stop stop just no!' But the only thing that came out of his mouth were strangled sobs and cries.

He tried to slow his breath and clear his mind. There was something he has to remember, wasn't there? Just think. No, not think. Keep calm. Andrew was just trying to scare him.

"Andrew," he sobbed into his chest. "Just talk me!"

"You won't understand! We're fucked! We're all fucked, Peter! You just don't know!" Andrew screamed back. His hands lower from the ongoing struggle with Peter's. The match dropped to the concrete floor and fizzled out. Again. They were alone in the dark, until Andrew slumped against Peter's chest unexpectedly.

Peter gasped audibly. From the moonlight that shone through the window, he could see his brother's eyes were shut and mouth was open- unconscious. He looked at peace with the world.

Peter straightened his back against the cement wall he was pressed to and shifted his brother's head to his shoulder, Peter slowed his breathing and began to remember where he was. The simulation. It just recreated memories of his. His breaths came at an even pace now, and he calmly closed his eyes. In a sudden moment of panic, he felt Andrew's weight leave him. Peter cried out and hugged the space where his brother once was. He knew what came next- he would leave his brother in the garage to sleep- too scared to move him- and the match that extinguished would set the building ablaze. Leaving Andrew just barely alive.

But this story had a different ending. The darkness began to fade into a dim light.

Peter sighed. He did it. First fear down.

The wall he was leaned against left his comforted back and his torso fell to the carpeted ground.

Although a yelp escaped his mouth, he didn't mind a bit. In fact, he started laughing. No fear could have even worse than that memory. Or do he thought.


End file.
